


Boot full of sand

by orphan_account



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: it's only implied folks jesus christ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5218781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	Boot full of sand

”You looking to go to Mars?”  
The hunter sits down across from you, all confidence and grace, face hidden within a dark hood. Everything about him screams _I know what I'm doing_ , from his selection of armor to his tattered, weatherworn cloak, and the scout rifle slung across his back doesn't make a dent in that image.  
But you know hunters, you've seen plenty of them, and you know they can build a positive impression of themselves as fast as you can unclasp your mark: In this dark bar with its shady characters and quiet frames, there's use for respect, and respect comes with the persona this hunter is flaunting around.  
You get up to leave, your optics narrowed and motor whirring anger, but somehow it doesn't deter him. It does earn you a slight drop in facade though, and what you glimpse of pupil-less irises and tightening faceplates is darker and angrier than anything you've seen before; you consider that maybe, just maybe, this hunter didn't tatter his own cloak to earn a few free drinks and a roll in the sack.

He leans back in his seat, arms folding across his chest, ”are you looking to go to Mars,” he repeats, tone calm, and his optics don't move from you for a second. When you keep standing, staring, waiting, his mouth light flickers in a smile. His mandible doesn't move. ”There's a mark on the billboard. Cabal. From what I've heard it's got Zavala's attention.”

The hunter leans forward, you assume the static escaping his audio output translates into chuckling, and then he looks you straight in the eye. ”It's a big mark. It worries the Titan Vanguard. And it has a lovely price on its head,” he says, suddenly oddly sensual in tone and mannerism. Your eyes flicker to his mouth, figure it's the money playing on his processor. Doesn't keep you from wondering what it'd take to get to link up and see what goes on inside his head. But then he sits back again and you can see the humor in his eyes before he speaks. ”And Titans _are_ the Titan Vanguards puppets, aren't they? _'Always do what's best for the city...'_?”

Your engine spins up into a roar before you can stop it, and he laughs. ”Temper, much? Your class always did wear your heart on your sleeve. It's a bad habit.

I have a warlock with me, he's in for the information, I, for the money. We figure you would make a good addition to the team, and of course I won't hog all the glimmer for myself.”

You consider just turning on your heel and leaving, but on one hand, you do want what Zavala wants. On the other, you're low on glimmer. If you weren't you wouldn't try to play on your status as Guardian and get free static charges at the bar. And you have spied the notice on the board. There were a lot of zeroes. Then again the hunter has injured your pride and you do feel the anger bubbling beneath your power core.  
But then you speak up and almost surprise yourself with your own deep gravelly voice; ”take off your hood 'n I'm in.”

There's hoots from people around you and you weather them out, mostly because suddenly those blue optics flicker with surprise and you take some slight pride in that. Straight up say that all titans are puppets and you earned the punishment.  
In the end he sighs and drops the hood, an exo in the booth behind him stares for a good minute and then turn her eyes to the table, hushing her friends when they ask. The hunter in front of you, now with his steel skull bared for you to see, looks you straight in the eye. All the confidence is gone, replaced by still shoulders and grim eyes. He slides out of his seat and stands up, waves for you to follow, and as he passes you by you notice the plating covering his interface panel is missing, deep lines crisscrossing the back of his skull. Without comment you slide the hood back over his head, wondering who forced their way into his processor and why.


End file.
